


Of Things Lost and Found

by starry19



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 06:36:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17095661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starry19/pseuds/starry19
Summary: "They needed to talk. He needed to get his head together. And his heart. Lucy needed him, and where had he been? Unavailable. Or worse, hurting her." 3x04 Tag





	Of Things Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> A tag to the virtual season 3 on Tumblr.

He hoped she took the hug in the spirit he had intended it.

It was an apology, an affirmation. 

_I’m sorry for being an ass to you. I’ve still got your back._

And it had felt so very good, having her in his arms, his chin on top of her head. A reminder that she was a fragile, petite thing, even as he had just watched her masquerade as an omniscient witch. One of her better performances, to be sure. 

They needed to talk. 

He needed to get his head together. And his heart. 

Lucy needed him, and where had he been? Unavailable. Or worse, hurting her. 

Last night had been awful. His words, spoken in anger. He didn’t get upset with her these days. But he’d decided that _now_ , in the middle of the goddamn lost colony of Roanoke, was a good time for that? 

He’d seen the tears in her eyes.

He was such as bastard. 

When she’d drifted off later, looking cold and miserable, head propped against the wall, he’d draped his coat over her, wishing he had more to offer. 

Wishing he had more courage, too. Courage to sit beside her, pull her down to him, let her sleep with her head in his lap. 

But at least he’d found the courage for this - to hold out his arms to her. 

She’d nearly fallen over herself to get to him, and he realized again how much pain he’d been causing her. Lucy, whom he adored. Who had already been through hell. 

He’d gone to find her after they’d returned to the bunker. She’d been curled up on one of the couches, thumbing through a book about native tribes in Virginia.

She’d looked up as he approached. Smiled. 

He grinned back, then silently tilted his head in the direction of his room, a question in his eyes. 

She didn’t hesitate. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, as soon as the door closed behind them, Lucy settling herself onto his bed. The image did things to him. “I’ve been sort of awful lately.” 

She did not contradict him. “Want to tell me what’s bothering you?” 

Not really. 

But. 

“I talked to Temple,” he told her. “When we were in DC.” 

She waited patiently, his pillow held in her lap. It was going to smell like her… 

“He said some things,” he went on. “And I suppose they got to me.” 

“What kind of things?” she asked, as he knew she would. 

He took a breath, ran a hand through his hair. Lucy frowned up at him, then patted the empty space beside her. 

He sat heavily, not quite touching her. “Things about my family. About…getting them back.” 

Understanding colored her face. “He offered to change the past for you. In return for what? Your loyalty?” She sounded…guarded now. 

He nodded, but to soften the implications, reached for her hand. “He said some other things as well.” He sighed. “About how I gave up on them. About how you and the team just keep me around for the wet work. ” 

Lucy laced their fingers together and he focused on her touch like it was a lifeline. 

“Part of me was absolutely tempted, I admit that. How could I not be?” he asked, willing her to understand. “But I can’t. I _can’t_. I know what these people are. I know nothing comes for free.” 

Slowly, she nodded. “So that’s why you’ve been in such a mood lately. Rittenhouse is playing merry havoc with your heart.” 

He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I hurt you, and I feel awful for it.” And for any number of other things. 

Lucy let go of his hand and stood, and he braced himself for her rejection. 

Instead, she stepped in front of him, between his knees, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, drawing him in. 

_Oh, God_.

He leaned forward, head against her chest, hands on her back. 

Her fingers sifted through his hair. 

He couldn’t help the shiver that chased through him. So this was what it was like to be held. He’d forgotten. 

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “You’re allowed to be human.” 

He tightened his hold on her. “Lucy,” he said, “I would never betray you.” It was important that she understood this. “Never. No matter what Rittenhouse offered.” 

“I know,” she told him. 

Her faith in him was ridiculous. It always had been. 

She kissed the top of his head, and he fought to not go to pieces. He did not deserve even a fraction of her affection, her love. But miraculously, he knew he had it. 

Suddenly, this wasn’t nearly as close as he needed to be to her. 

“Come here,” he said, hands on her hips. 

She let him tug her down, not protesting as he swung his legs up onto the bed, laying on his side, then pulling her into his chest, one arm beneath her head. 

Instead, she smiled up at him once before putting her nose into his t-shirt, both of her hands flat against his stomach. 

With a little maneuvering, he draped the blanket over both of them. He was being deeply presumptuous, but just couldn’t care. He wanted her here. Badly. 

“Will you stay tonight?” he asked in a whisper. 

She nodded, and he gently carded his hand through her hair, over and over, until she was relaxed and limp against him. 

“I wanted to hold you like this last night,” he breathed, unsure if he was hoping she was awake or asleep.

“So why didn’t you?” she shot back, but quietly. Not asleep, clearly. Then, “I wanted to _be_ held like this.” 

The idea that she had drifted off, miserable and cold and aching for his arms…and he hadn’t shown up for her, for this. Had he thought he hated himself before? 

“I was an idiot and a coward,” he told her. “Forgive me.” 

She draped an arm across his waist. “I’ll consider it.” 

His lips quirked up, hand tracing lightly down her spine.

Lucy sighed, stretching herself out, stockinged feet between his calves. The intimacy of the gesture was almost enough to ruin him. 

“This would have been much more comfortable than how I slept last night,” she commented once, clearly teasing him.

He chuckled. “Well, the next time we’re essentially held hostage by Pilgrims, I promise you can sleep on me.” 

“Mm,” she said. “Only when we’re held hostage by Pilgrims?” 

He chose his words carefully, knowing what she was really asking. “Or when you’re cold, or lonely, or sad, or happy, or tired. Or even if…” he stumbled. “Even if you just want to be here.” 

Every night, if she wanted. God, he hoped she wanted. 

She pressed her lips to his chest and he sucked in a breath. He both hoped he got used to her touching him and hoped he never _really_ grew accustomed to it. 

“Good,” she finally whispered. A pause. Then, “Flynn?” 

“Hm?” he murmured, cupping the back of her head. 

“I want to be here.” 

He closed his eyes against the sudden swell of emotion. “I want you to be here, too,” he finally managed. 

He could feel her smile against his shirt. “Well, that’s a good place to start, isn’t it?” 

A good place to start what? 

There was an answer he wanted to hear, but knew he wasn’t brave enough to ask. 

Instead, he tightened his arms briefly, then tucked her more securely into him. She would be fortunate if he let her out of this bed in the morning. 

He wanted to stay awake, to remember every second of this, but his body was reminding him that he had been up for nearly thirty six hours _and_ that he was 43. He let his eyes close, pushed his nose into her hair, and relaxed. 

When his eyes opened again, it was still dark, an unaccustomed warm weight pressed to his side. Lucy. 

All softness and sweet smelling curves. 

She had hooked a leg over his knees, arms tight around him. 

He appreciated the gesture, but surely she knew that there was no way he was going anywhere as long as she wanted him. 

Or, maybe she didn’t. He hadn’t been precisely forthcoming. Not entirely his fault - there had been terrible timing and interruptions. But still, he would have thought that his feelings were more than obvious at this point. 

He still knew he should tell her. 

Maybe just not right now. 

There was always a chance she didn’t want to hear it. And he would not do anything to jeopardize his chances of getting her back in his arms.

He gently ran a thumb over one of her cheekbones. God, she was so delicate. He felt like a bare-knuckled brute with her face in his palm. Such fragile bones. It terrified him - what could happen to her if he wasn’t good enough, wasn’t fast enough or strong enough. 

Her eyelashes fluttered, and he dropped his hand, sorry to have woken her. 

She looked up at him, eyes huge and dark, and he took a heartbeat to be immensely grateful for this small moment. 

“What time is it?” she whispered, voice hoarse. 

He gave her half a smile. “Not time to be up just yet.” 

A slow, sleepy nod, then she resettled herself against his chest. He adjusted his hold on her slightly, fingers rubbing small circles across her narrow back. 

It was amazing, how naturally she fit into his arms. There was no sense of awkwardness, no searching for the best way to do this. Without even thinking, they went together perfectly. Like she was supposed to be there with him. 

There was quite a difference between reading the words she had written in that journal and the reality of it all coming together. 

He had known this was coming, though at times he had doubted. Doubted severely, as he realized how much one simple action in the past could change the future. 

But he was glad he hadn’t told her what _she_ had told him in those pages. He had fallen in love with the two Lucys - the one from the journal and the one who hated him in the beginning. His feelings had nothing to do with the idea of _meant to be_. He did not force himself to love her. 

And he had been hoping that she would maybe find her way to him without knowing what the future allegedly had in store. 

Well. Here she was. 

Tucked in beside him with her hands pressed to his stomach, cheek squished against his heartbeat.

He kissed her hair. 

Lucy made a small sound of contentment that was nearly his undoing. 

Quietly, she spoke. “How did you become the person I trust the most? How did you become the one place I feel safe?”

He wondered if she could hear his heart stutter. He held her closer. “Because you _can_ trust me. And you _are_ safe,” he whispered. 

“I know,” she breathed back. 

He kissed her hair again. 

What would it be like, to know that they would be sleeping like this the next night? The night after that? Every night for the rest of their lives? What would it be like to have the right to touch her whenever he wanted, to kiss her, to spend lazy Sunday mornings tangled up in sheets together? 

Lucy snaked an arm around his waist, pulling him in closer. 

In all honesty, he couldn’t get a great deal closer than he already was, but he was certainly willing to try. 

_The one place I feel safe_. 

She could have no idea the effect those words had on him. 

Lucy gave a quiet sigh, he hoped of peace, then relaxed into his embrace fully. He let one of his hands trail up and down her narrow back, other arm firmly around her. 

He stayed awake for a long time after that, looking down at regular intervals to make sure he hadn’t just dreamed Lucy up. 

But no - she was sound asleep against him, dark lashes standing out like pen strokes against her ivory skin. He had definitely indulged in some elaborate fantasies about her, but nothing could possibly top the reality of her actually being draped over him. 

He brought her coffee the next morning, reluctant though he had been to disentangle himself from her. When he made it back to his room, she was sitting up in bed wearing one of his sweatshirts, the sleeves turned up several times.

He couldn’t help it - he grinned. 

If that wasn’t a signal to the outside world that she was at least partly his, he didn’t know what was. 

She grinned shyly at him as she left, and he had possibly never been more tempted to kiss her. 

But he would not be greedy. Would not push. He had seven hours worth of new memories to keep himself warm with. 

And, just perhaps, if he was very lucky indeed, he would get to have her in his arms again tonight. 

 


End file.
